


Blood

by grenburr



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: i dont know what the hell this is im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 00:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grenburr/pseuds/grenburr
Summary: Up close, he truly has the face of a monster.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in case it wasnt obvious this is a joke fic it started out as like something we were joking about for fun on discord but then we made it something else and now i cant sleep at night and im so fucking afraid. also the next chapter is an alternate ending so have... fun... with that........

     The night was foggy, and the last shreds of the sun’s light were fading away. It’d recently rained, so it was horribly damp. You frown at the small puddles throughout the dips in each curb, reminded of a horror movie you’d recently watched. The highway was mostly empty, save for a few cars heading home. Waiting for the red light to change, you noticed something in the corner of your eye. Checking your side mirror, you purse your lips. There was a car carrying some kind of statue. You turn your head, and upon closer examination, you realized that it was a statue of Rick Sanchez. You shifted your gaze to the driver's seat, trying to figure out who on Earth could be carting around a statue of this caliber. You can’t see the driver’s face under the mask they seemed to be wearing, in which you realize it also has a very close resemblance to Rick Sanchez. Before you can turn your head back to your steering wheel, he notices you, slowly craning his head to meet yours. You experience a sudden bout of anxiety, and choke under the gaze, even if you cannot see under the mask. This was ridiculous, this was just some fan, right? As the red light blinked from red to green, you noticed that his driving never faltered, even if he never seemed to stop staring at you all the way home.

     As you two drove, you notice that he’d begun to roll down his windows. You can hear “Get Schwifty” blaring from his car, it’s sound crisp and clear, even though your own windows were rolled up. At the next stop, you watch him through your side mirror, and gasp in horror. He started taking his mask off. However, you realized that it was not a mask. It was his mouth. The “face” of his mask seemed to be his upper jaw, and a horrible growth of his lower jaw seemed directly connected to his neck. As he lifted the "mask" up, the jaw revealed rows and rows of pointed, sharp teeth, fit for shredding meat and crushing bone. You squint in fear, pretending not to be paying attention, when you watch him mouth something. You can barely make sense of it, but it makes you deathly cold and afraid. You hit the gas. Rick Sanchez fades.

     At home, you can't sleep for some reason. From inside your stomach, you feel a tight coil. Wanting to get rid of this anxiety, you get up and lock the door extra tight, even going so far as to block it with a spare chair you own. Just in time, because soon, you hear someone knocking on your door. Thinking it nothing but a few kids playing pranks, even as your anxiety swells,  you look in the peephole. Glancing around, you can't see anything save for your patio light, and the 5 yards ahead of it that it illuminates. In the distance you see a glimmer and then a small flash. Was that a figure in the distance?

     It's getting closer.

     No, your mind supplies,  _ he’s  _ getting closer. 

     The hairs on your neck rise. Your stomach is churning and turning with more viciousness than before. It’s the man with the Rick Sanchez “mask”. Your dog barks, or so you thought. You couldn’t be sure though, the noises emanating from the two of them were indistinguishable. 

     You then realise that you’re shaking. When did you get so sweaty?  
  
     He's shambling towards you, slow and menacing, until he stops suddenly. You see him sniff the air, and suddenly he bolts towards your door, as if he were a wild beast that just discerned your presence.

     You stumble back, your brain telling you to run as fast as you could. You turn around and do just that.

     He slams into the door, rattling its doorframe. You hear him screeching, his voice scratchy and demonic. It almost sounds like airy howling, as if he’s roaring from the very core of his body. You can barely make out words through the door, and for some ungodly reason you believe him to be bellowing out a phrase in which you’d never thought would bring you fear.  
_  
"IIIIIIIIIIII’M PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICKLE RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK! IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII’M PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICKLE RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!”_

     And though he’s clamoring and crying out in bestial vigor, scratching up your front door, you can’t help but cling to your instincts.

_      He can't get inside. _

     You repeat this in your head several times.  _ He can’t get inside. _ You dash into your kitchen.  _ He can’t get inside. _ You attempt to locate your cooking knives.  _ He can’t get inside. _ You grab the biggest and sharpest of the bunch.  _ He can’t get inside. _ You can still hear him in the distance.   
  
**_He can get inside._ ** **  
**

     You clumsily dash into your room, diving into the closet and shutting it tight. You sandwich yourself between several bags and clothing to cover yourself, and you wait and gaze through the cracks. You desperately hold onto the knife like a lifeline, but somehow, you know it’s useless.  
In the distance, you can tell he’s flailing around--  lacking the ability to open your door. You are filled with fear until he then seems to run off, which somewhat relieves you. However, you know for sure that he will come back soon enough. Confirming your fears, he soon slams into your door again, this time harder than before. You can hear one of your picture frames in your room shatter as it falls to the floor. The door handle rattles as he desperately tries to enter and soon enough, the door slams open, filling you with immense dread as he draws closer.

     He sniffs the air again, looking for you. He seems to locate you, which is immediately solidified by the fact that his heavy footsteps swiftly near your door. Salty tears are rolling down your cheeks, and your breathing is shuddering until he slams your bedroom door open.  _ The knife is useless, _ you’re paralyzed by fear. It looks scarier up close, and as it leans towards your little hideaway, you can smell the alcohol strongly on him. His mouth turns up in a smile, and that’s when you snap into action.    
  


     With strength you didn’t know you had, you stab him with your knife, stunning him momentarily. You run for the back door, panting heavily. As you run throughout the hallways, you can hear him heavily dashing on all fours towards you, howling like a fervent beast. his jaw is unhinged, and he's howling that deathly phrase that grips at your soul. For a second, hope arises in your mind. The door is close, so close, but it isn’t meant to be. He caught up, seemingly angry as he tackles you to the floor.  
  
     He turns you on your back, so that you face him. Up close, he truly has the face of a monster. His skin was cold and clammy, and it seemed as if there were no flesh. His hands pinned you down, with the bones bruising your arms. You choked back sobs, which only made the monster smile. He lifted his arms towards your neck, and as you’re blacking out, you notice something above him.

     It’s your shelf, full of heavy books and more photograph frames, and even a large vase. You smile at him deviously, summoning the same primal strength within you as before and desperately shoving him into the shelf. His grip loosens, and he grins widely, thinking you a fool for trying to push him off. Yet he doesn’t figure out your true goal as you bring your arms out to the sides of the hulking shelf, pulling it down with you. Before you succumb to the same fate you’ve set up for the beast, you notice he lifted his arms up in surprise to stop the falling shelf, giving you an opening to slip out from under him.

     You promptly dash out, allowing the shelf to fall on him. With one quick move, you jump atop the shelf, adding your own weight to it, crushing the beast under it. You jump up and down, applying more pressure assuring that whatever it was under you was dead.

     As dawn breaks, you call a friend to help you clean up the mess that was your house. Your friend didn’t believe you at first, but as you showed him the beast’s “corpse”, if you could even call it that, as it was already almost completely rotted away, you both agreed that it was best if this was kept secret. You two gathered up his remains and drove out several states over, burying the “corpse” deep into a forest. As you two made your way home, you could’ve sworn you’d heard a faint  _ “...wubba lubba dub dub...” _ back in the trees. You shudder, buckling yourself in and preparing for the ride home.

     One year later, you turn on the news to find reports of mysterious murders “coincidentally” taking place in the same state you buried the beast in. Each victim’s homes were broken into, with doorframes scratched up like some… animal had gotten to it, and each victim was torn up and completely drained out of blood. You shudder, remembering the events of a year ago. Only you know the truth, and it fills you with guilt knowing that this beast is now someone else’s problem.

_      At least you’re safe, right? _


	2. Your Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternate ending

     You wake up, strapped to the floor, lightheaded and afraid. Your vision is blurred, and you can only just make out the man in the “mask” and several jars scattered around him. He is holding one of the jars, seemingly filling them up with a crimson coloured substance that smelled suspiciously of metal, which overwhelmed your senses for a moment. After laying there for a few minutes, you try to focus your eyes onto the labels of the many jars, and make out faint letters that spell out “Schezuan Sauce” and, in that moment, you realise what has happened. You look down at your blood covered body, barely functioning and that's when the man realises that you have awoken. He grins, wide, showing off all his teeth in an act that makes you ready to accept your cold, cruel fate. He moves towards you, and before you know it, you have blacked out once again. 

     This time, you don’t awaken. 


End file.
